


contact sport

by jolach



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, F/F, Minor Injuries, Rule 63, jammer i barely know 'er, porn with the vaguest suggestion of a plot, special guest star carl sagan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 03:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20419301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolach/pseuds/jolach
Summary: Nolan has half an hour to patch herself up before the next game.





	contact sport

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of minor injuries, including some blood, but nothing serious.
> 
> This is rule 63 with both characters as cis women.

Nolan has to slam the door to the single-stall bathroom hard with her hip to get it to close. She hisses. There’s definitely a bruise there already—from the block she laid last game? Maybe from eating shit in warmups this morning. Maybe from slipping shoveling snow yesterday.

The door doesn’t lock, but it’ll do. It’s this or the big shared bathroom with everyone, and she needs to breathe. The fluorescent light fizzes. She puts the first aid kit she grabbed from G’s bag on the cracked sink and takes a quick inventory of her body.

No loose teeth. That’s not technically a surprise—nobody caught her in the face, and she always wears her mouthguard. Be nice if the recurring dream about all her teeth falling out would get the message and fuck off.

She tongues at the gap between her front teeth and moves on.

The heel of her right hand is scraped to hell. Her own fault for getting sloppy going out without her wrist guards on. Stupid. Could have caught a broken wrist, easy. She might still be a rookie, but she knows better. She’ll put them on before the next match. She’ll make sure nobody sees.

Her hip has started to throb. She prods at it with a fingertip, then three. Maybe the new bruise will meet up with the purple-yellow one that’s taken over her thigh. She’ll have to wait until she gets home to check.

She glances up in the mirror. No point in fixing the helmet hair. She’ll be back out on the track in half an hour—maybe less.

She runs a hand through her hair a few times anyway, then wipes the sweat off on her ugly-ass uniform shirt. She hasn’t started looking any better in orange, but unless they can find another sponsor within a hundred miles there’s nothing to be done about it. They’re lucky enough that Hartsy’s uncle’s auto shop is willing to kick in beer money with the shirts.

She kinda likes the Lube’n’Go logo, too, though it’s way more fun to give Carter shit about it.

Her left calf has a pretty sweet slice in it. Not sure when that happened. She squints down at the trickle of blood inching down her leg, trying not to think about what her socked feet are coming into contact with on this floor. Derby halls are gross enough. Derby hall basement bathrooms have to be on a whole different level.

She unzips the first aid kit and rolls her eyes. Would it fucking kill G to refill the supplies in here? She takes the beer runs seriously enough. Nolan will make TK stop at a drug store on the ride home or something.

There are some little two-packs of ibuprofen, which is good. She tears open the packet, looks at the rusty faucet, and swallows the pills dry. Fuck. Her eyes water. She’s not badass to do any of this shit. None of these bandages are going to be big enough.

She jumps and drops a band-aid with Spongebob on it when someone pounds on the door. Who the fuck else— “Patty, let me in!”

“Fuck off, TK,” she shouts back on autopilot. There are individually-wrapped alcohol wipes underneath the band-aids. Nolan tears open a wipe and braces herself on the sink to lean down and get some of the blood off her leg. The visual makes her feel about thirteen years old. “I’m busy.” She hisses, both at the sting of the alcohol and the burn-stretch in her abs. These all-day tourneys are fucking brutal. She’d rather be in it and bleeding than sitting on the bleachers, but some days another option would be nice.

Three more pounds on the door. “I gotta piss, Patty, come on,” TK’s voice comes through, bright and shameless. Jesus Christ. There’s like a ten-stall bathroom upstairs. It’s not really funny. Nolan doesn’t know why she’s smiling.

“It’s not even locked, whatever,” Nolan says. It takes two tries, but TK bursts through, looking about as busted as Nolan feels. She grins through her split lip when she catches Nolan watching her in the mirror.

“You need a whole bathroom to yourself, princess?” TK says, swinging the door shut—well, trying—and then giving it a good bodycheck so that it actually closes. She’s got dark sweat stains halfway down the sides of her own ugly orange shirt. Probably only a matter of time before she cuts the sleeves off, anyway.

Nolan rolls her eyes, bends over, and focuses on trying to get these Dora the Explorer band-aids to stick to her leg and not her fingers. “If you’re gonna piss, piss.” Stupid fucking things are probably a decade old. She’s gonna kill G.

What little light she has to work with goes away as a shadow falls across her leg. “How’s it goin’, there,” TK says, close.

Nolan can feel her hair clinging to her face. She can tell she’s getting red. “Can I help you?” She looks up and tries to flip her hair out of her face. It kind of works. “Toilet’s over—oh.”

TK has a roll of bandage tape and some gauze pads in her hand.

She leans against the wall while Nolan holds a pad tight to her leg and wraps the tape around it. She also runs her mouth the whole time. Nolan half-listens and lets her heart rate drop until she can’t hear it in her ears anymore.

“—and that thing that you did, you and Lindy did, on that second-to-last jam, that block was so sick, we gotta do that again—”

“Uh huh,” Nolan says, ripping the end off the tape. She stands up and flexes her leg, shifting her weight back and forth. It’ll hold. She’ll have to re-tape it if they win the next game and advance, but that’s all right.

“—but I really think G is gonna let me be lead jammer more, I mean after all the points we racked up those last two jams, like, come on, how can she not—”

Nolan pushes her hair back off her face and raises her eyebrows at TK. She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet as she talks. Does the same thing in the locker room before bouts. Behind the bar when she’s working. And when she’s waiting outside by the truck with a cigarette before she drives Nolan home. It used to make her hair sway back and forth and brush her shoulders, but not since she cut it all off last week.

“Yeah, Teeks, you’re real hot shit,” Nolan says. TK grins at her.

“Not my fault I’m the fastest.”

“Be faster if you didn’t waste your time getting in cheap shots,” Nolan says. She sets the tape and gauze on the sink and gets another alcohol wipe out of the kit.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” TK says, and Nolan frowns as she starts dabbing awkwardly at the scrape on her right hand. It stings. She’s shit at doing things lefty. “I should leave those to you, you’re way better at them.”

Nolan snorts. “Thanks.” Hopefully most people won’t notice. She’s probably more use to the team out of the penalty box, technically. She grabs a gauze pad off the sink, still holding her right hand out in front of her. Maybe she can get it open with her teeth.

“Give it here, dumbass,” TK says, and snatches the pad out of her hand.

She boosts herself up onto the sink. Nolan always forgets how small she is. The first time TK had pulled up outside Nolan’s parents’ place—the first time they’d met, TK sent by G to pick up the new kid, fresh meat back in her hometown with a useless degree and an “unproductive attitude”—Nolan had been so distracted by the nonstop stream of chatter that she hadn’t noticed until they’d arrived at the practice rink that TK had been sitting on top of a phone book.

Well. The chatter and the black eye. And the sleeve of duck tattoos. That had definitely been a sleeveless shirt day.

TK grabs Nolan’s wrist in one hand and uses the other to press the gauze hard—

“Ow!”

“Princess.”

—against the scrape. “Give the bleeding a minute to slow down, jeez,” TK says, but she eases back the pressure a little bit. It still hurts. It’s all right.

TK kicks her feet lightly back and forth. “—and that penalty was bullshit, you saw, I didn’t touch her ankles—” She’s not wearing the uniform skirt, just the black bike shorts they all have on underneath. Nolan’s never seen her wear the high socks or the fishnets some of the rest of them wear. The hair on her thighs is almost blonde, barely visible unless you’re really looking.

Nolan flicks her eyes up and away. Catches her own expression in the mirror. That’s not any better.

She glances down. TK is still peering at her hand. That’s good.

Sometimes Nolan really, really doesn’t want TK to look at her. But not a lot. Most of the time that’s not what she wants.

“—anyway, if they’re gonna call Mickey Mouse bullshit like that,” she’s saying as Nolan tunes back in, “then they gotta call that crap from whats-her-face during your jam, what the fuck was that about—”

“I wasn’t fast enough.” Whoever put the eyeblack on TK’s cheeks did it crooked.

TK kicks a foot out and catches Nolan just above the knee. “Oh, yeah, it’s your fault she went out of bounds, like—” she rolls her neck dramatically, and Nolan snorts, “fuckin’ cut the track by like a thousand miles and the ref didn’t catch it, yeah, that’s on you. For sure.”

Nolan shrugs. “I could still be faster.”

“Oh, no doubt, you’re the slowest person I’ve met, like, ever—”

“Fuck you,” Nolan laughs.

“—fuckin’, like, stars are born and burn out while you tell a single story, I’m not joking—”

“—did you, like, watch a documentary or—”

“—but they still gotta play by the rules,” TK says. “Even if you’re taking, like, years off all our lives.” Her fingers are still wrapped around Nolan’s wrist. “And yeah, I got high and watched like ten episodes of Cosmos last night, there’s a whole bunch on YouTube.”

The deep hurt in Nolan’s hip has eased off. Must be the ibuprofen kicking in.

“Damn, invite me to the party next time,” she says. She’s mostly joking. There’s not a lot of space in TK’s place, and she has roommates. And it’s not like Nolan can really have TK over to hotbox her parents’ guest room. So it doesn’t really seem fair for Nolan to, like. Impose.

Nolan is actually pretty polite.

“OK,” TK says, pressure steady. “You’re getting an Uber, though, I’m not driving across town for you when I’m about to get my chill on.”

“I’ll have a car soon.”

“Likely fuckin’ story.”

Nolan grins. OK, so the shit tips she gets waitressing probably aren’t going to add up any time soon. At least TK doesn’t tell her to just have her parents buy her a car. “Harsh, dude. What’d I ever do to you?”

TK barks a laugh and finally lets go of the gauze, swapping it out for a new pad and tossing the old one into the overflowing trash can. “Kobe.”

“What?”

“Remember when you spilled your iced coffee all over the truck last week?”

“Yeah, who slammed on the brakes because she thought she saw a turtle?”

TK makes a wounded face. “You don’t help turtles?”

Of course Nolan helps turtles— ”It was a blown-out tire!”

“I mean, I figure you’re related—”

Nolan is gonna kill her. “Teeks, I swear to fucking God—

“Anyway, who drinks iced coffee in February? Jackass.” TK says, but she grins as she grabs the bandage tape and starts slowly wrapping the clean gauze to the scrape.

Nolan can’t watch her face. Nolan watches her hands. They move like she does—fast, not the most graceful. But skilled. Certain. “What, you’d rather have me spill hot coffee? That’s better?”

TK shakes her head and tears off the tape. “That’s not the point.”

In the mirror Nolan can see the shaggy lines in TK’s hair. She must have cut it herself. “There’s a point?”

Sighing, TK smoothes the end of the tape flat on the back of Nolan’s hand. “The point is, Pat, you do shit to me all the time.”

Nolan doesn’t say anything.

TK turns Nolan’s taped-up hand back and forth in both of her own. Inspects the tape job. “Kinda like a boxer,” she says, mostly to herself.

Nolan’s mom always wanted her to play piano.

There’s just enough room on the corner of the sink for Nolan to lean on with her other hand for support. She’s not touching TK’s leg. TK’s not looking at her.

“What do I do?” Nolan says. “To you?”

TK sighs and kicks her feet again. She looks up at Nolan and then past her, toward the door. “What time is it? We’ve gotta get back on the track in, like—”

“TK,” Nolan says.

“Did you bring your phone? I left mine in the locker room—”

If TK wanted to move, she would move. Nolan knows that much. Vividly. “Stop.”

That’s the first time that’s ever worked.

Nolan’s been way closer to TK than this. She’s been shoved up against her with Ghost and Hartsy all crammed together on the bench seat in the truck. She’s knocked her over at practice more times than she can count. TK once gave her a piggyback ride for half a mile just to win a bet.

“What do I do to you, Teeks?” Her heartbeat is back in her ears again.

“Jesus, Patty,” TK says. There’s a little bit of a laugh in it. Her grip on Nolan’s wrist gets tighter. Her split lip shines. “Not nearly as much as you could.”

Nolan is definitely red. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess.”

Nolan steps forward in between TK’s legs. “I hate it when you call me that,” she hears herself say.

“Do something about it,” TK says, lifting her chin like she does on the track. “You won’t,” she says, and she’s still grinning when Nolan grabs her jaw and kisses her.

She doesn’t fuck it up. TK’s lips are warm, and she tastes like salt, from sweat and probably a little blood. Nolan tips TK’s head back, and TK lets her. They’re just two bodies. They can do this, too.

TK grabs at Nolan’s waist, which means—oh, hey, Nolan has her other hand back. She reaches up to rest it on TK’s shoulder, slide it down her arm—

TK pulls back, and Nolan goes a little cross-eyed trying to focus on her face when it’s so close. It’s still the same face. That’s crazy. They can just do this. “Always knew you were hot for the gun show,” TK says, and Nolan can feel her flex her bicep a little under her hand.

“Shut the fuck up,” Nolan says, and kisses her so hard that TK slips backwards and lands with her ass in the sink. TK snickers into her mouth, and then Nolan sucks hard on her busted bottom lip, and then she’s still laughing but she’s gasping while she does it.

That’s a good sound. Nolan likes that a lot.

The angle is awkward, TK shoved back against the mirror, but Nolan has both hands free now, and the heavy muscle of TK’s thighs underneath them, holy shit. TK is warm and she’s got her hands in Nolan’s hair and she doesn’t stop making noises as Nolan touches her, rocking her hips up into nothing as Nolan grabs handfuls of her.

A sharp tug in her hair makes Nolan hiss and pull back. TK is breathing hard and looks fucking thrilled. She looks like—she doesn’t look like anything else in the world.

TK swallows. “Fuck.”

Nolan digs her fingertips into TK’s thighs, eyes on her face. “Did you want something, or...”

“Fuck off, let me up, I can’t—can’t do shit in here,” TK says, and then, “Jesus!” as Nolan fists her hands in her shirt and hauls her up out of the sink. The momentum carries TK into her chest, which makes it easy for Nolan to maneuver them away from the sink and back her up against the tile wall.

“Better?” Nolan says, and, OK, she deserves it when TK pokes her hard in the ribs.

“Drama queen,” TK says, dragging Nolan down to kiss her.

It is better, shit. Nothing has ever felt better than this. TK is how she always is—intense, hyperactive, annoying as hell—and Nolan really, really likes TK. Nolan likes knowing TK is there, _there_ being wherever Nolan is, and feeling the solid weight of her pressed against the wall feels pretty fucking certain.

Nolan wants to be solid, too, for TK to twist and throw herself against. She wants to get to be what wears her out. God, she’s wanted to fuck her for months.

TK slips her tongue into Nolan’s mouth and moans when Nolan slides her hands up to her tits.

Nolan drops her head to TK’s shoulder. She feels like a teenager, grabbing at TK through her shirt, but fuck, it feels so good, and she doesn’t know how to turn her brain back on, how to make decisions. TK tips her head to the side and curses when Nolan plants her teeth in her neck.

“Yeah—please, fuck,” TK says, and Nolan closes her eyes and bites down harder. It’s fucking insanity that TK might want it like this too, would want what Nolan can’t help doing.

TK’s hands are slipping in the sweat at the small of Nolan’s back. “Here, give it—” and Nolan lets go of her for a second to let TK pull her shirt over her head.

“Don’t—” Nolan says when her head is free, but it’s too late. The shirt is on the floor. Gross. She makes a face at it while her hands creep up under TK’s shirt. “I hate you.”

“Uh huh,” TK says, and then she rakes her nails down Nolan’s bare back and Nolan basically blacks out and wakes up with TK’s shirt rucked up almost to her collarbone and her mouth on TK’s nipple through her sports bra.

And her hands on TK’s ass. TK’s gotta be practically on her tiptoes. Oh, Jesus.

The material of the bra is rough and synthetic against her tongue, and when she bites down—gently, she swears she does it so gently—TK makes a noise like she’s been shot, but she’s also got a fist full of Nolan’s hair holding her exactly where she is, and fuck, Nolan can _smell_ her—

Nolan needs to take a breather. She’s gonna take a second. Right here, crouched over like a shtihead with her face in TK’s tits.

“_Patty_,” TK whines. She twists her hand in Nolan’s hair—she’s strong, Jesus—and pulls her back a little. “Fuck, asshole, if you keep fucking teasing we’ll be here all night.”

It’s nice that TK thinks Nolan is teasing and not just mindlessly trying to get as much of TK in her hands and mouth as possible at any given time. It’s true that they have somewhere to be. They probably should stop.

Nolan’s face fits perfectly in TK’s neck. She’s never thought that hard about TK’s ears, but it feels so good to shove her nose right under one. “How fast can you get off?”

TK squirms in her grip. God, Nolan is not going anywhere. “Faster if you stop talking,” she says, and then giggles when Nolan shoves her tongue in her ear. “Fucking gross, Pats, Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ animal—”

She shuts up real fast with Nolan’s thigh between her legs.

“Get off, then,” Nolan says, mostly into TK’s hair. She’s kind of joking, but then TK makes a little sound and grabs Nolan by the back of the neck for leverage and shit, holy shit. Nolan slips a hand under one of her thighs to give her a little more support—

“Yeah, Patty, fuck,” TK says, and Nolan has to pull back and see her face. Head tipped back against the tile, eyes screwed shut. “That’s fucking perfect, don’t—.”

The rolling grind of her against Nolan’s thigh is so hot. Like, obviously, but literally, the heat of her—Nolan _knows_ she’s wet, wants to shove a hand down her shorts and prove it, cram slick fingers in TK’s mouth and watch her grin around them.

But that would mean making TK stop the desperate way she’s rubbing off on Nolan. So Nolan will have to wait.

“Jesus, wish I’d known you gave it up so easy,” Nolan says, and TK laughs, a grin that turns into a gasp when Nolan reaches up to pinch at her nipple.

“Cheap fucking date, yeah, fuck—that, Pat, please,” TK says, grabbing at Nolan’s shoulders. Nolan does it again, and TK’s hips jerk, losing time. What a fucking magic trick. Nolan doesn’t stop, but she grabs tight to TK’s thigh with her other hand to steady her, to pull her closer—they can’t get closer, Nolan is covered in her sweat all down her front.

Nolan remembers getting off like this, after she discovered her clit but before she knew what she was doing, rutting off on the mattress or a pillow whenever her parents left the house. Brainless. Just a body. She was always ashamed afterwards, not that it stopped her.

TK doesn’t look ashamed, shirt shoved up over her tits and her abs flexing as she rides Nolan’s leg in a shitty basement bathroom.

She looks shameless. Nolan wants to eat her alive.

“Come on,” she says. “You want it so bad, come on.”

TK digs her nails into Nolan’s shoulders, lighting her up. “Close.”

Nolan likes her body, mostly. Likes what it lets her do—run far, climb mountains. Skate fast. Take an elbow and keep going. Find a limit, push past it, find a new one. She likes it. There’s nothing that she likes doing with her body more than she likes this.

She finds TK’s mouth again, slick and open. She rocks back to meet TK’s rhythm. And she digs in deep, sharp, everywhere she can—fingernails on her thigh, hand on her tit, teeth in her lip.

And she holds tight while TK yelps, shakes, and comes, pinned between Nolan and the tile wall.

Nolan takes it all.

It takes a minute for sound to start to filter back in—the buzz of the fluorescents, the rasp of TK’s breaths, the soft shift of her shirt brushing against the tile. The clatter of skates on the floor above them.

The stifled squeak of TK starting to laugh.

Nolan pulls back from where she’d been—what had she even been doing? Mouthing at TK’s jaw, it seems like, which—yeah, she should definitely get back to that, just one second.

“What, jackass,” she says. Christ. TK’s eyeblack is fucking destroyed.

“Holy shit,” TK says. “Patty. What the fuck.”

Nolan would be more concerned if she weren’t giggling. And smiling. And looking at Nolan like—

They definitely don’t have time for, like, anything. But TK is still wrapped around her and she looks like sex and Nolan just has to rock her thigh a little against that heat—

“Fuck _off_, demon,” TK says, groaning and shoving Nolan on the shoulder. Nolan does step back. Shit. She didn’t expect to feel a little shaky on her feet. She blinks stars out of her eyes.

TK doesn’t look much better, pulling her shirt down clumsily. “I can’t believe you jumped me in a bathroom,” she says. She hasn’t stopped grinning.

“I can’t believe you followed me into a bathroom,” Nolan says.

“It’s not my fault you’re dumb.”

Nolan shrugs. The shakiness in her legs is turning into an interesting floating feeling. “Kinda is.”

TK shakes her head. “That’s romantic as hell, Pat.” Her eyes widen. “Fuck, you didn’t—can I, like—”

Oh. Right. Nolan honestly hadn’t thought about it. “No time.” Who cares? She feels good. She feels _really_ good. She’s wants to run a 5k. Or punch God. “After?”

“Fuck yeah,” TK says, finally levering herself off the wall. She’s moving a little gingerly. Nice. She reaches down and picks Nolan’s shirt off the ground. “We win this bout, I’ll let you sit on my face in the truck.”

Nolan doesn’t bother trying to smother her smile. “You’d let me do that anyway—”

She manages to catch the shirt when TK throws it at her.

They’re definitely gonna win.

Nolan turns toward the mirror to try to corral her hair. Christ. No point. She’ll have to just steal a hair tye from V. And she needs to remember to grab her wrist guards. No big deal. It’ll be fine. “How much time do you think we—”

“Oh my God.”

Nolan looks up in the mirror. TK’s got her hand over her mouth, and she’s laughing again. “What?”

“I’m so sorry.”

_”What?”_

“You wanna pass me the first aid kit?”

TK has to boost herself up on the sink again. The alcohol wipe stings like a bitch on the scratches on Nolan’s back. She smiles the whole time.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me be clear: Nolan is the worst waitress in all of Canada.
> 
> Thank you as always to the snussy squad [kingsoftheimpossible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsoftheimpossible) and [angularmomentum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angularmomentum), without whom I would create nothing.
> 
> TK sitting on a phone book in a truck is the intellectual property of hero and genius [hellflour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellflour).
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @ hyggles.
> 
> Comments make me want to run a 5k or punch God.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] contact sport](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20430842) by [growlery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery)


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